Monkey Business
by Layla-V
Summary: C/7: An event on an away mission reminds Chakotay of a conversation he once had with a well-wisher.


TITLE: "Monkey Business"  
AUTHOR: Layla V.   
CONTACT: v_layla@hotmail.com  
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/chakotayseven   
ARCHIVING: Sure. Just let me know where.   
FANDOM: Star Trek Voyager   
PAIRING: Chakotay/Seven  
RATING: PG-13   
CODES: Humor. AU.   
SUMMARY: An event on an away mission reminds Chakotay of a   
conversation he once had with a well-wisher.  
DISCLAIMER: All characters owned by Paramount. I am merely   
playing with them. No copyright infringement is intended.   
NOTES: Written for the Die J/C Die contest. Major thanks to   
Sorcha for the betaing. :)  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Stunned was it. Stunned was right. Stunned was definitely the  
word for the occasion. Not only for the poor primate but me as  
well.  
  
All it had taken was one fast zipping non-lethal charge from  
Seven of Nine's phaser. And voila - the problem was solved. Just  
like that.  
  
Stunned.  
  
If only I'd figured this out four years ago while stranded with  
my then-elusive quarry, literally fed up with all the games that  
were played, and feeling utterly clueless as to how to walk the  
line anymore.  
  
Fed up and very thoroughly pissed off.  
  
But then, was I really?  
  
That clueless, I mean.  
  
After all, it was many years ago. And I had all the evidence laid  
out before me. The *monkey* had made sure of that; delightfully  
squeaking around like the intolerable little chimp that it was,  
cackling away the information of how things were going to shape  
up for me in my near future.  
  
On New Earth.  
  
As if a *monkey* would know.  
  
I am sure my spirit guide would've loved tearing that irritating  
primate into neat little strips of white processed meat-doused  
into hot barbecue sauce and preserved for future consumption.  
  
Hey, I may be a vegetarian, but my she-wolf definitely isn't. I  
don't begrudge her this. It's in her nature. Just like being  
infinitely polite to my superior officers is in *my* nature. Even  
if it's only forever to my detriment.  
  
Too bad spirit guides don't have access to my dream world.  
  
Oh, don't get me wrong. Getting my meditation-loving self bitten  
by an insect and then left behind on New Earth with the captain  
by my questing shipmates hadn't resulted in my sudden ability to  
communicate with native life forms.  
  
It was merely a dream.  
  
I dreamt that I was sitting in the forest, surrounded by rows  
upon rows of narrow delicate-looking single beds --all meant for  
a female obviously-- carving away one headboard after another for  
my elusive, utterly inseduceable captain. Whom I should mention I  
could actually hear, even in the dream, merrily splashing away in  
the bathtub that *I'd* built for her several weeks ago. When  
suddenly the monkey appeared. I watched as it gleefully waved at  
me from the top branch of a tall tree, grabbed a vine and  
skillfully swung down to land right in front of me.  
  
Stunned felt very right even then.  
  
"Hiya pal," the monkey snickered in perfect standard. "Want to  
know why it's all hopeless?" It smirked at me, its whole demeanor  
very obviously meant to tease.  
  
I blinked and looked down at my combadge, wondering if the  
universal translator had suddenly adapted to primate talk.  
  
"Oh, its just a dream, you idiot." The monkey scoffed at me and  
when I looked up at it, it shook its furry little head. "You  
don't really expect monkeys to suddenly start talking, do you? If  
you haven't figured it out as yet, you're sleeping."  
  
"Oh." I breathed a little easier. After all, it couldn't really  
bite me and hurt me or anything in a dream, could it? I was still  
suffering the consequences of an insect bite. Didn't want an  
animal bite added to my list of problems too. I leaned back and  
looked at the monkey. "What do you want?"  
  
I watched with a raised eyebrow, and no small exasperation, as  
the monkey settled its bottom on the nice comfortable seat I'd  
built a week ago for *myself*, folded one leg neatly on top of  
another and put an elbow (its monkey version) on its knee. I  
almost expected it to light a cigar.  
  
"I am here to clue you in." It looked at me. "So that you can  
stop wasting your time."  
  
My brows furrowed. "Wasting my time? With what?"  
  
"Not with what. With *whom*." The monkey bared its teeth. "Kathy  
wants you to know she ain't interested."  
  
I felt my brows climbing to play catch with my hairline. "What  
the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"You really are a big dumb oaf, aren't you?" The monkey wrinkled  
its nose at me. "I am talking about your inane efforts to woo  
your captain. It's *not* going to work!"  
  
"What efforts?" I felt my face burn at the crazy revelations.  
"I'm not trying to woo anyone." Not really. Not successfully at  
least.  
  
"Oh yeah?" The monkey snorted. "What's all the carving for then?  
Trying to prove you topped Surviving the Wilderness through  
Carpentry 101 in your junior year at the academy? When are you  
going to realize that all the headboards, bathtubs, sand  
paintings and neck rubs of the world aren't gonna win her. You're  
not *it*."  
  
"How do you *know* that?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.  
The little initial burn of embarrassment was washing away with  
the characteristic indignation that lies deep within my soul and  
rises to the surface only once in a blue moon. I was damned if I  
was having a monkey order me around. "You just said monkeys don't  
talk. How can you know I am not it?"  
  
"Ahh yes." A dreamy look filled the monkey's eyes. "We're not  
gifted with speech in real life, but we are prized listeners...  
and my Kathy likes to speak to me when she's lonely."  
  
"You?" I shook my head in amazement, dazed at the twists my dream  
state was taking. For a dream, this was a real doozy. I almost  
felt like laughing.  
  
"Yes," the monkey continued in the same awed tone. "She tells me  
you're not really her type but doesn't know how to tell you  
without hurting your sensibilities."  
  
"Not her *type*?" I felt my teeth grit at the skinny little  
pre-neanderthal's discourse, all hints of humor evaporating from  
my demeanor. "What do you mean?" I asked, taking deep breaths to  
calm myself. After all this was just a dream. No use getting  
pissed off in a dream, right?  
  
"Yeah." It thinned its mouth at me. "You're too border-worldish  
for her. Not civilized enough for someone with her refined,  
cultivated upbringing, ya know."  
  
"Is that right?" I felt the stirrings of real annoyance uncurling  
in my belly and restrained myself with effort. "What's her type  
then?" Let me guess. Three feet tall and easily maneuverable on a  
tree branch?  
  
"Sorry, but that's confidential." The monkey sniffed at me. "You  
know all that legal counselor stuff. I'll get sued if I gave you  
that information."  
  
"Oh really?" A snarl started at the back of my throat.  
  
"Yeah. I don't want to go to jail. New Earth laws are very strict  
about counselor-patient confidentiality."  
  
"You're worried about jail?" I growled at the monkey, barely   
listening to the nonsense it was actually uttering, as I  
got up from my worktable, my hands curling into fists. "If   
this was real, I'd have strangled you right here, you furry   
little nincompoop."  
  
"My my..." The monkey's eyes widened at my threatening posture,  
as it too got up from the stool, its hair rising in alarm. "No  
wonder Kathy doesn't want to be with you. You're such an  
*animal*."  
  
"Oh yeah?" I smiled menacingly at the monkey. "Well, tell you  
what? I haven't really been trying all that *hard* to win her  
either. She's the only other person here and I am kind of out of  
choices at the moment-if you haven't noticed that as yet."  
  
"Disgusting." The monkey scoffed. "She was right. All human males  
think of is sex. You don't *deserve* her, you sleazy scumbag!!!"  
It shrieked at me, its face twisting with comical fury as it  
jumped on the hanging vine once more, kicking a violent little  
cloud of dry leaves, grass and mud in my face.  
  
I woke up in my cubicle on New Earth to a small coughing   
fit, which immediately transformed into a small laughing   
fit. After the chortles quieted down, I cursed the captain's   
burnt effort of a dinner that night and the ensuing   
indigestion it had caused for the weird dream I'd had and   
vowed I would never encourage her to cook again.  
  
It was only a dream, after all, I thought to myself. Couldn't  
possibly have meant anything, could it?  
  
Nah!  
  
But for the first time on that planet, instead of hoping for  
miracles, for a change I decided to simply sit back and observe.  
  
Helping the captain tend to her tomatoes in her neat little  
garden-the one domestic thing she could actually manage without  
disaster. Talking quantum physics with her while she did her all  
too important getting-outta-here research. Showing her how to  
inverse the polarity of a gravimetric field generator to scrounge  
off additional power in emergencies-the quintessential Maquis  
techniques. All fun New Earth topics for Captain-First Officer  
'while-we're-stranded' discussions.  
  
And just when I'd think that perhaps I was getting through to  
her... she'd be smiling up at me in that same complacently  
indulgent way of hers, and I'd be thinking--- yes, there it is...  
she's showing her human side... I just might be able to break  
through her steel veneer and emerge triumphant...  
  
...the monkey would reappear.  
  
Always. At the wrong moment. As if it knew just when to  
interrupt.  
  
And the captain would turn away from me and raise her hand to the  
primate.  
  
"Here monkey," she'd smile. "Come here, monkey."  
  
And the monkey would cackle at me gleefully, and swing upside  
down from the top branch, shrieking happily at the captain.  
  
Amusingly, I stopped feeling irritated at these interruptions.  
There was a calm sense of conclusiveness to the situation that I  
found interesting in some strange twisted way.  
  
I knew that even though I was literally the last man on Earth,  
she and I were never meant to be.  
  
A few days later, the miracle of miracles occurred and Voyager  
came back for us with the cure and we were rescued.  
  
And the captain and I went back to being... well... the captain  
and I. In other words, not much really changed. She seemed much  
happier being back in charge and I was just glad to be back in my  
old cabin. Long live the stale musty recyclable air of Federation  
starships. Sure beats going out in the fresh invigorating sun and  
getting bitten by evil insects.  
  
Even removing the splinters and repairing the endless tiny cuts  
from my poor aching fingers took three solid hours, all the  
result of my hours of woodworking on New Earth, and enduring the  
holodoc for that period of time was pure hell on my nerves. Still  
I wasn't about to let Tom Paris anywhere near me with a pair of  
laser tweezers in those old days. He wasn't nearly as adept a  
medic back then as he is now.  
  
"It's not to going to *die*, Chakotay. Relax." Tom pointed the  
tricorder at the monkey. "It's just *stunned*, that's all."  
  
Stunned. There's that word again.  
  
I looked down at the creature lying on the forest bed and shook  
my head in wonder. You'd be amazed to find out how many  
lifecycles on different planets around the galaxy resulted in the  
evolution of primates similar to Earth's monkeys. The same wiry,  
chirpy, furry, irritating goofs. Some aliens kept them in zoos as  
people did on 24th century Earth at some places. Some kept them  
in secured environmental parks as people did on 24th century  
Earth at *other* places. And yet some revered the creatures  
almost to a point of veneration, giving them more importance than  
even their local population, deeming them to be some sort of  
deities who granted their prayers, like *no one* did *anywhere*  
on 24th century Earth.  
  
Well, with the exception of some Starfleet captains, that is.  
  
But still. Using a phaser at a time like this. Wasn't this all a  
little too excessive?  
  
"It's not permanently damaged," said Seven, obviously not  
agreeing with my silent internal argument.  
  
I looked at her delicately raised golden eyebrow and sighed. How  
accurately she could judge our moods sometimes amazed me. If I  
didn't know better, I'd think she and I had retained some hidden,  
clandestine form of telepathic connection from our link two years  
ago. It was almost like she could read my mind.  
  
Or maybe it was I who had become too transparent around some  
people these days.  
  
That thought gave me pause.  
  
Nonetheless, I realized some Maquis XO to Former Borg Drone line  
of questioning was in order. I put my hands on my hips and turned  
to Seven with what I hoped was my serious face.  
  
"Did you have to *shoot* it?" I asked, my own brow rising to  
mimic hers.  
  
Seven frowned. "The creature interrupted our work. Time is of the  
essence here as the atmospheric window is only open for the next  
forty-five minutes. We can't let anything halt our proceedings  
lest we want to get trapped here until the next window opens  
forty-two hours later."  
  
"Seven, our mission is to collect botanical samples from these  
vegetation patches and to scour for mineral deposits. Not shoot  
local wildlife."  
  
"It halted discussions critical to our mission."  
  
Which was funny since the only critical discussion I remembered  
having with Seven at the time the monkey appeared was about  
replacing Leola root with some of these vegetables we were  
detecting in the patches ahead of us. Ever since we'd succeeded  
in convincing Seven that taste wasn't that irrelevant after all,  
she'd been actively involved in her latest mission to bring  
perfection to our cook's imagination as well. Which was a doomed  
scenario if you asked me, but that wouldn't stop Seven now, would  
it?  
  
Reduce the amount of this spice; increase the amount of that;  
throw out this ingredient; harvest some more of that; and on and  
on it went. At least there were no burnt dinners when Seven was  
cooking.  
  
Even the crew was happier at the changes the constant rearranging  
brought to their palate but I never would've thought that having  
a former Borg Drone developing a culinary interest could be so  
hazardous to indigenous life forms.  
  
"The creature's continuous disruptions were delaying our  
mission." Seven was still on a roll, obviously passionate about  
her messhall mission. "It was not responding to diplomacy."  
  
This got a snort from Tom before even I could come up with a  
response. "Seven, it's a *monkey*," he drawled. "What did you  
expect it to do? Swap its favorite recipes with you?"  
  
Apparently, the trend of our conversations hadn't gone unnoticed.  
  
Of course, the Ensign's impertinence earned him a glare from  
Seven.  
  
"Well, um," he stammered in the wake of that cool gaze. "Of  
course I *agree* with the point you're trying to make with  
Chakotay here."  
  
Which earned him a glare from *me*.  
  
"Uh, of course I agree with what *you're* saying too, Commander."  
He smiled accommodatingly. "Sort of," he added with a glint in  
his eye.  
  
The Maquis glare was obviously losing its effect on discourteous  
conn officers.  
  
"Sort of?" I bristled.  
  
"Well, yeah. I know where you're coming from but in case you  
didn't realize," Tom stressed, "we had the Doc's blessings in  
this."  
  
"The Doctor?" I frowned.  
  
"Yes," Tom replied. "The EMH was the one who decided the setting  
on the phaser that would be least harmful to the primate."  
  
I blinked. "The Doctor approved your shooting the monkey?"  
  
"That is correct," Seven replied. "He came to this   
conclusion after several crewmembers complained about being   
constantly harassed by the creature. They were afraid they'd   
get bitten by it and the Doctor realized the mission was   
more important than the little discomfort a minor stun would   
cause the creature."  
  
Which, in hindsight, was too damn funny. Stunning a native life  
form in the pursuit of a mission was apparently not uncalled for.  
It was the significance of the mission that was obviously in  
question.  
  
How strongly do you really feel about what you're pursuing that  
will make you want to shoot a monkey?  
  
I looked down at the stunned creature, feeling hysteria descend  
on me like one of those moments of insolent indignation that  
caught up with me at the most inappropriate times. It started as  
a ridiculous smile that fought to emerge on my face, forcing me  
to turn away from my two friends, as I helplessly tried to  
contain it. My resolution, though, wore down in the wake of the  
deep rumbling chuckle that rose up my belly. I took a step  
towards a grove of trees, grinning like a maniac, then another,  
my hands reaching out to grab the trunk of a tree.  
  
All I'd needed was a damn phaser.  
  
All those weeks of endless pursuit and what did I do? Resorted to  
the old noble act of being the provider. Building bathtubs.  
Fucking idiot. Who the *hell* built bathtubs with their hands in  
the 24th century? And that too for a Starfleet captain who was  
more interested in spending time with a monkey.  
  
Call me Kathryn, she'd said.  
  
As if *that* made a difference.  
  
My shoulder pressing into the tree trunk, I bent to my knees as I  
laughed, laughed and laughed-the fit apparently having started  
while I was reminiscing about the lost opportunity to stun a  
monkey four years ago. Amidst my comic spell, I saw a pair of  
Starfleet issue boots walk up and stand next to mine and between  
breaths, looked up into Tom Paris's puzzled eyes-his tricorder  
pointing in my direction, his brow wrinkling with apparent  
concern.  
  
Which somehow made the whole situation seem even more hilarious.  
  
I grabbed my stomach, still chuckling uncontrollably as my eyes  
watered, and sucked in deep breaths to try to calm myself. Didn't  
want my crewmates to declare me hazardous to *their* health and  
use the stun setting on *me* now, did I?  
  
Suddenly, I felt a sting on my neck and jerked up to see a   
hypospray in Tom's hand.  
  
My laughter disappeared abruptly. "What did you do?" I   
demanded, wiping my eyes clean.  
  
Tom's shoulders drooped with what seemed like relief. "So you're  
really alright. We weren't so sure."  
  
I looked at Seven who had apparently seized control of the  
tricorder, her brow creasing with an identical expression of  
concern.  
  
"What was in that hypo?" I asked.  
  
"A mild relaxant," Seven replied. "Just to bring you under  
control."  
  
That sounded funny for some reason as well. "How much under  
control?"  
  
Tom frowned. "Um. It was a very *mild* relaxant, Commander." He  
looked at my grin with obvious suspicion and turned back to his  
crewmate. "Seven?"  
  
"The scans show nothing out of the ordinary." Seven checked the  
readings. "He should be acting within his normal parameters."  
  
"Oh, will you two *stop* that." I waved at my crewmates, shaking  
my head. "I am fine."  
  
"Are you sure?" Tom raised a brow.  
  
"Yes," I declared as I straightened my shoulders. "Now grab your  
stuff and let's get back to the shuttle."  
  
"We're leaving?" the pilot asked.  
  
"Yes, we are," I replied, putting all my equipment back into its  
proper casings. "The next team that comes down can correlate the  
readings we've taken and continue from where we stopped."  
  
"But our discussions regarding the mission..." Seven started.  
  
I interrupted her. "...will continue on the shuttle ride." I  
smiled. "If I remember correctly, you said the atmospheric window  
closes very soon. We don't have much time left."  
  
Our walk back to the shuttle took only a few minutes and we were  
soon settled in, going through the pre-launch sequence. Or rather  
Tom and Seven had spread the various PADDs over a console and  
were bantering over the readings we'd taken as I went through the  
pre-launch sequence. Tom took over the pilot's seat once the  
shuttle was in air, and I slid into the copilot's chair.  
  
The Rhe'wara system.  
  
Comprising of a string of Y-Class planetoids and only one M-class  
planet. The M-class had an abundance of minerals and ore deposits  
which could be used by Voyager but was cursed with a  
gravitational/electronic field generated by the planet's magnetic  
poles that made transportation --via shuttle or otherwise-- down  
to the surface impossible. It was only through the small windows  
that opened every time the planet completed a spin on its axis in  
approximately forty-two hours, that any such attempt could be  
made.  
  
Thus the urgency on our part.  
  
  
Voyager, while itself staying in higher orbit, had been sending  
teams down to different parts of the surface every time a window  
opened to harvest minerals and vegetables. This was the first  
time *I'd* encountered the primate life form and consequently the  
first time seen the endorsed-by-the-EMH stunning technique in  
action.  
  
As I joined my crewmates in the debate over our readings and  
indulged Seven in a renewed discussion regarding recipe  
modifications à la Neelix, my mind once more went over the  
comedic reality of the situation. As Seven presented her  
arguments on how a pinch of Ro'luban spices can add flavor as  
well as nutrition to the crew's dietary needs, a strange stray  
thought drifted over to my mental landscape.  
  
My brow wrinkled as I leaned back and silently argued with myself  
over the absurdity of the whole idea. How silly it would be for  
Seven if I actually presented it to her. How totally irrelevant.  
But all my mental arguments aside, the thought clung to me like a  
blood sucking leech and just wouldn't let go.  
  
So I swiveled my chair around and faced our Astrometrics officer.  
Tom, by my side, was laying some changes to our course as he  
maneuvered the vessel through the heavy ion storms in the  
atmosphere, and Seven was at the science station, entering data  
into one of the consoles.  
  
I cleared my throat. "So, Seven," I began. "I was just wondering.  
What do you think of bathtubs?"  
  
I ignored the muffled choking sounds that came from the pilot's  
seat to my left as I looked at Seven pause in her task and put  
the PADD in her hand down. I gave her a small smile as she looked  
up at me, a curious expression on her face.  
  
"Bathtubs." She raised a brow. "An unhygienic way of getting  
yourself cleaned. Lying down in a long shallow vessel filled with  
your own soiled water with the purpose of washing yourself seems  
most unsanitary. An upright water shower would be more  
efficient."  
  
I allowed the smile to grow on my face at her answer as Tom  
forgot all about choking and snorted yet again.  
  
"Unsanitary?" His tone was filled with incredulity. "That's a bit  
harsh, don't you think? People have been using bathtubs for  
hundreds of years."  
  
"Oh no, I think Seven's got absolutely the right idea, Ensign." I  
grinned at him. "Centuries of washers notwithstanding, I think  
bathtubs stink. Pardon my pun."  
  
Tom looked at me unbelievingly. "What's gotten into *you*? And  
more importantly, where did this discussion come from? What is  
this, some personal vendetta against bathtubs?"  
  
Oh you don't know the half of it, I thought as I chuckled at him  
but didn't answer. Instead, I turned back to Seven. "A water  
shower, you said?"  
  
"That is correct," she replied.  
  
"What? A narrow, uncomfortable little water shower?" Tom drawled.  
"You want to take *that* over a nice comfy bathtub?"  
  
"You're forgetting, Tom." I grinned at him. "A water shower in a  
First Officer's bathroom is always designed very luxuriously...  
plenty of space to maneuver."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, tell me how many ways you've got it better than a  
lowly Ensign like me." Tom sighed dramatically. "Personally, I  
prefer a jacuzzi."  
  
"Jacuzzi." Seven frowned. "Another crude way of accomplishing the  
task of cleaning oneself. Based on the same principle as the  
bathtub. Therefore equally unacceptable."  
  
"Hey, I don't mind jacuzzis." Tom waved Seven's criticisms away.  
"There is room for three, four people in there. And besides," he  
grinned, "the Delaneys are sure to be great fun in there."  
  
"The Delaneys." Seven stared at him.  
  
"Hot date tonight?" I smiled as we broke atmosphere and emerged  
in the planet's orbit, where Voyager awaited us.  
  
He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. "That's right."  
  
Grinning, I watched as Tom directed the shuttle towards Voyager's  
port bow and with his characteristic dexterity, maneuvered the  
vessel cleanly through the opening shuttlebay doors.  
  
"Yes," Seven called out from her station as the shuttle came to a  
halt inside the shuttlebay. "I am aware of the wager the Delaney  
sisters made with Lieutenant Chapman regarding Ensign Paris's  
holodeck scenario."  
  
"Huh?" Tom looked at her, a blank expression on his face.  
  
Seven looked at him coolly. "Your jacuzzi program."  
  
Tom's head swiveled back as he stared at Seven. "How do you know  
about that?"  
  
I held my breath, realizing something was up.  
  
Seven got up from behind her console. "The Delaney sisters  
mentioned your presenting them with your holodeck credits for  
eight hours uninterrupted use with Lieutenant Chapman."  
  
"Lieutenant Chapman?" Tom growled. "Where the hell did Chapman  
come from? The date was with *me*."  
  
"That was what the wager was all about." Seven picked up her  
equipment, thoroughly unruffled, while I contemplated whether to  
feel sympathy for Tom or chuckle unabashedly at him. "I am sure  
the Delaneys will thank you for your skillful designing of the  
jacuzzi."  
  
"To *hell* with the jacuzzi." Tom gritted his teeth as the  
shuttle hatch was opened from outside and two ensigns from  
Science peered inside, waiting for us to come out. "I can't  
*believe* this." Tom looked at me with a scowl on his face. "You  
know what, you were right. Bathtubs *stink*," he snarled and  
stalked out of the shuttle.  
  
That made the decision for me. Anyone who thought bathtubs   
stunk deserved my full sympathies.  
  
I turned to Seven, my brow raised. "A wager?"  
  
She looked straight at me. "No. A joke."  
  
I blinked. "The Delaneys were joking?"  
  
"No." There was a smile on her face that I found unexplainably  
enticing. "I was."  
  
"You made that all up?" I felt my mouth drop open. "The Delaneys  
never told you anything?"  
  
"That is correct." Seven tilted her neck. "It was Ensign Kim who  
told me about the holodeck program Ensign Paris was working on."  
  
"Harry's in big trouble." I grinned and then shook my head.  
"Still, Seven, you really exceeded my expectations. I never  
thought you could be so ruthless while joking."  
  
"He wasn't responding to diplomacy," she replied.  
  
I chuckled as we walked out of the shuttlebay together. "I am  
just glad you didn't use the phaser on him."  
  
"I am sure he'll feel much better when the Delaneys contact him  
regarding their date tonight."  
  
"Janeway to Chakotay." The call came as we turned into the  
corridor.  
  
"Chakotay here." I punched my combadge.  
  
"Have your away team members and yourself report to my readyroom.  
We have more readings to correlate."  
  
"On our way," I replied as we made our way towards the turbolift.  
  
It was time to get back to work.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
16 hours later  
  
  
  
Back to the cabin. 2100 hours.  
  
Another long, exhausting day in the Delta Quadrant over.  
Apparently a First Officer job was never finished. While Ensign  
Paris got off shift immediately after the away mission, and Seven  
got off half a shift later, I was left to look after the bridge.  
A 12-hour gig to make sure the ship went around the planet in its  
perfect little orbit, while the remaining alpha shift rested.  
  
Sometimes I wondered if the captain had sadistic tendencies.  
  
Or perhaps it was my infinite politeness. The  
forever-to-my-detriment kind that did me no good but was  
apparently meant for the wellness of the whole ship.  
  
Yep. Me. Always the sacrificial goat.  
  
The only interesting thing to have occurred during my shift was  
the two-line encoded message I received on my personal console  
from holodeck two. It said simply,  
  
'We've created a monster! By the way did you know a waterfall  
scenario works much better than a jacuzzi?'  
  
Apparently, a good time had been had by Ensign Paris that evening  
after all.  
  
I peeled the uniform off piece by piece, stretching to work out  
the kinks formed over the past day or so. First a long away  
mission. Then a long bridge shift. A hot shower would help, I  
knew, and I was so looking forward to it. I turned the lights off  
in the living room as I headed towards the bathroom, knowing my  
duties were over at least for the next sixteen hours.  
  
The door chimed.  
  
Or not.  
  
Who the hell?!?  
  
Frowning, I grabbed the bathrobe from the closet as I ordered the  
lights back on. I was pulling the sashes close as I strode over  
and pressed the panel at the door. It swished open.  
  
I blinked. Seven stood at the threshold with something tucked  
under her arm and an air of mystique hanging around her.  
  
"I asked the computer for your whereabouts," she began, looking  
up at me with the same ex-Borg assuredness she carried with her  
throughout the day. "It informed me you'd just gotten off duty. I  
assumed you were headed for the shower."  
  
"Uh." Yeah. But.  
  
Towels. She had towels tucked under her arm.  
  
"It's time to test your theory." She raised a golden brow.  
  
"Theory?" I blinked again.  
  
  
There was just a hint of humor in her large blue eyes. "That a  
First Officer's shower stall is indeed built with luxury." She  
quirked her lips. "And as you said, and I quote, 'plenty of space  
to maneuver', in mind."  
  
"Uh." It appeared I was at a loss for words even though my heart  
was thudding very fast at the possibilities.  
  
"Although I have been through your quarters design specifications  
and the plans show the bathroom space to be quite capacious," she  
continued, "I couldn't be entirely sure since I've never been  
inside them before."  
  
"Uh."  
  
And the consequences. Surely this wasn't supposed to be so  
straightforward. So direct. So deliberate.  
  
"I did some research and replicated a bathing gel, which can be  
used as a shampoo as well, and would suit most hair types," she  
offered helpfully. "I'd be happy to share it with you."  
  
So terribly efficient.  
  
My brain wrangled with me over the dreadful consequences of  
showering with a former Borg drone. Such an outrageous idea  
indeed. The Maquis and the Borg.  
  
But still. There was something in her eyes. I'd been silent for  
way too long and how I, as her superior, was taking her  
suggestion was obviously open to interpretation.  
  
"Unless," she blinked for the first time, a touch of hesitancy  
slipping into her demeanor, "unless," her eyes shifting down to  
her feet for a second, "I caught you at the wrong moment and  
you'd rather be doing something else."  
  
Something akin to warmth filled my heart at her hesitancy. I  
reached out and placed my hand on her arm.  
  
No. Not a Maquis. And not a Borg drone.  
  
Just a man and a woman. A very beautiful woman.  
  
I took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I'd love to, Seven."  
  
She looked up at my face and smiled.  
  
Deliberate and efficient? Perhaps. But that was okay. As long as  
she smiled that lovely smile.  
  
I gently pulled her inside my quarters. The door swished shut  
behind her.  
  
  
  
The next morning I had maintenance uproot the bathtub from my  
bathroom. I didn't even want to look at it from that point on.  
  
The crew was stunned to see Seven and I come in the messhall  
together, sit down to have breakfast together, and leave for our  
off-day together.  
  
Only one satisfied conn officer sitting with two gorgeous twins  
on both arms had even an inkling of what had transpired.  
  
As for me, I am just glad I never stunned that monkey.  
  
  
  
========^*^========^*^=========  
  
The End 


End file.
